


Birthday Kitten

by hoars, Wretched



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Bad Luck, Best Enemies Alison and Spencer, Cake, F/F, Humor, Kittens, Language, Vaguely Helpful Vet Knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wretched/pseuds/Wretched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Emily's birthday, and Alison will make it special. </p>
<p>Or die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Kitten

Alison gives up on making the cake herself when she sets off their smoke detector. 

Black smoke billows out of the oven and Alison races to open all the windows before the stench can get into the carpet or sofa. In disgust, she carries the burnt cake, pan and all, to the dumpster with her cutesy oven mitts and tosses the whole damn thing. She now has no pan to bake a cake in, and she considers with a frown whether or not going to the store is worth it. 

Her nose wrinkles at the smell in their apartment and drags all the fans they own out of storage. The fans whirl away when Alison comes to the conclusion, yes, Emily deserves a homemade birthday cake, even if it kills her. 

The store is a nightmare. 

Alison heads directly towards the housewares aisle and picks up a non-stick pan. Mission complete, she heads to the baking aisle to grab a box of cake mix. She loves Emily with all her heart plus her red blood cells and doesn't in fact want to kill her girlfriend, especially not on Emily's birthday. Maybe next year Alison will attempt a completely homemade cake, but today it's coming from the box.

And then a woman, bigger than her grocery cart, stands right in front of the box Alison needs. Alison tries to be patient, but the woman is just standing there, humming and pondering. 

She tries willing the woman with her mind to move. But Alison's telepathy either still needs work or the woman doesn't have the brain cells to receive the message. A quick check of her cell phone reveals Alison has been standing there for ten minutes.

Fed up, Alison decides to take her chances.

"Excuse me," she says.

Alison squeezes past the woman's cart and obstructs her view of the cake mixes for no more than thirty seconds, yes, success, when the woman huffs.

"Excuse you," the woman says.

Normally, Alison would look the woman up and down, her gaze cutting and then smile, a hint of cruelty born from the United States public education system and leave it at that. But she isn't having a very good day and her mouth runs away from her, "I did say excuse me, you cow." 

Alison has a surreal moment of, I was thinking that but did I just say it, while the woman gapes. Alison comes to the conclusion, yes, I did, fuck, around the same time the woman's face turns red in anger. 

"You twig bitch--" the woman begins.

"Just get out of the fucking aisle!" Alison snaps back. She's committed now. She might as well keep going. "Leave the cake for people that can eat it without dying from sugar overdose!"

The woman stares at Alison with her mouth open again and Alison wants to nod in satisfaction. All she wanted was cake mix. The woman started it. Alison had been fucking polite.

And then the woman grabs a box of red velvet cake mix and throws it at Alison.

"Rude cunt!"

Alison breathes deeply through her mouth and closes her eyes tight. I will not rip her hair out by the handful. I am a mature, successful woman. I can be an adult. Alison grabs a jar of frosting and pelts it at the woman's face. 

"Oh my god, your mother should have fucking swallowed you," Alison snarls and, yeah, mature adult right here.

The gravity of her actions hits her the second the woman takes a step forward, and Alison is a little surprised the ground didn't shake, the she-zilla. The woman could easily make five Alisons. She's so dead if the woman touches her with her meaty paws. 

Fuck.

Alison runs for it.

"Come back here, you bitch!"

Alison barely survives the encounter. She's banned from the store and only developed charm keeps her from being arrested. Quick talking and a few tears and fake sobs about her girlfriend's birthday being ruined. 

Already annoyed, Alison decides to be on the safe side and drives to Hanna's loft rather than home. 

She invites herself in and says in greeting, "Hanna, help me."

Hanna blinks from her sofa. The other blonde is curled up in her afghan watching the new Nicholas Sparks movie with suspiciously watery eyes. Alison merely raises an eyebrow. It's only nine in the morning. 

"Bad date?"

"No, yes, why do men suck?" Hanna sniffs.

"It's genetic. Try dating women," Alison says. She would play at concern and worry more if this scene wasn't repeated every few weeks. Hanna still had terrible taste in men. Something she inherited from her mom, for sure. "Now, help me."

Hanna sniffs again but gets off the couch.

"What do you need help with?" 

"Baking," Alison says, the loathing in her voice similar to some saying bedbugs or pedophile. 

"I, okay, let's see the directions," Hanna says.

Alison is thankful her friend doesn't make the obvious jokes, most likely sensing how close to the edge Alison is. The other blonde takes the box mix from her and sets to work.

By the time the cake is on the counter cooling, Alison feels relaxed enough to share her morning horrors with Hanna. 

"Oh my god," Hanna laughs. "My date last night isn't bad in comparison. At all."

Alison joins Hanna's laughter after a beat. It was kind of funny. Hanna directs her on how to remove the cake from the pan and on to the serving plate in order to frost. She manages it without any sort of fiasco, which she is very proud of. 

Hanna sits on the counter next to Alison's frosting station and begins explaining how her date with Jack from the bank was a passive aggressive douche. 

"He spent the whole time telling me about his ex Veronica. And he kept ordering for me and eugh. I am not stand in for anyone."

Alison made the necessary comments to communicate she was listening while she applied the pink frosting, the blue icing on top that said, 'Happy Birthday Emily!' and then the candied flowers. It looks like a perfect cake. Emily was going to love it.

"Enough about me. What did you get Em for her birthday?" and Alison can feel her smile slip right off her face. Hanna catches the look and tries to backtrack. "Not that you need to get her anything. I'm sure the cake is enough."

"No, no, it's not," Alison says, quietly with her eyes squeezed shut.

For her birthday, Emily surprised her with two tickets to St. Croix island. A cake was not adequate enough. Not for Emily. 

"Shit," Hanna says, guilty. "Spencer might have an idea what Emily wants?"

Alison drops the cake off at home. "Don't forget to put it in the fridge or the frosting will melt," Hanna warned. She can still smell her earlier efforts and leaves the fans on before leaving again.

Spencer has an office on main street that Alison visits just in time for Spencer's lunch hour. The woman smirks when she sees Alison and greets her with, "Hanna called."

Alison scowls. 

They go the mall. 

It doesn't go well. 

Alison thinks maybe a piece of jewelry ("Does Emily even wear jewelry?") or maybe her favorite TV show on DVD ("Because nothing says I'm happy you were born like a box set.") or maybe an album record ("And? Concert tickets too? That'd be nice. Oh? They are hiatus. That sucks.) or maybe clothes ("She'd hate that. She'd wear it because you gave it to her, but she would hate it.") or maybe a fancy dinner ("Because Emily is comfortable in upscale restaurants. Sounds like a great gift, Ali.") or fuck, a book ("You have no clue, huh?") would be fine, but at every turn Spencer scoffed and had something to say.

"And what did Toby get you for your birthday?" Alison finally snaps, her teeth aching from grinding them. 

"A french press and coffee bean grinder," Spencer blinks. "And an hour of oral sex." Which, isn't actually a bad idea, but Alison wants a tangible gift too. 

"You aren't any help. At all," Alison informs her longtime friend.

Spencer smirks, "I was supposed to be helping?"

It's only mildly satisfying to pinch Spencer. The other woman laughs and swats back. Obviously, Spencer had too much caffeine this morning and it turned her into a troll. An evil troll and Alison is tempted to call Toby and make him pick up his wife because Alison wants to strand Spencer here.

"You suck," Alison glares.

"Sometimes," Spencer agrees and at the distaste on Alison's face, laughs again. "I talked to Aria and her cat Virginia had kittens. I thought maybe we could pick up some supplies at the pet store here and stop by?"

Alison considers the suggested gift. A kitten. They had been talking about getting a pet. Emily was more of a dog person, but with both their schedules they didn't really have the time for a puppy. But cats were supposed to be independent, weren't they? More suited to a few hours alone... and Emily did have have a soft spot for all things small and fluffy.

"That's fine," Alison says, a little cross still.

She leads the way to the pet store, gracefully ignoring Spencer's snickering. 

Alison parks in front of Aria and Ezra's tiny townhouse the proud owner of a kitten collar, two bowls, a cat pan, a cat bed, litter, food and toys. On a whim, she also bought a tiny birthday hat made of plastic that Spencer spent more time cooing over than actually helping, the bitch.

"They just get more hipster Stepford every time we see them," Spencer says.

Alison is inclined to agree. 

They let themselves into the house with the key they all have on their key rings and Alison's ears perk at the sound of Aria giggling, "You're so fierce, yes you are."

Spencer rolls her eyes but smiles in fond amusement and leads the way into the living room. The space is kitschy and Alison thinks every time she visits that Ezra and Aria don't have a lick of fashion sense between them. But what draws her attention this time is the flannel blanket spread out across the carpet and the kittens on top.

There's an entire litter. Some are moving too fast for Alison to get a reliable count, some sleeping in little balls next to other fur balls and others still are playing with Aria and her feather on a string. Alison can feel the cute and barely resists smiling down at them. In her line of work, cute doesn't cut it anymore.

"Hey guys!" Aria grins. "Meet the litter!"

Aria begins listing off names -- all writers of some sort. "That's Fitzgerald," an orange kitten gnawing on Aria's fingers. "We're keeping him. Shelley," a black kitten with white patches. "Neruda, Hugo," two solid black kittens sleeping. "Yeats and Bukowski," another orange kitten and a gray kitten chewing on the feather toy. 

Alison kneels down, ignoring Fitzgerald, and tries thinking like Emily. Emily would like a kitten that would play, so she dismisses the ones sleeping. Shelley is trying to explore underneath Aria's couch and all Alison can think is, our home will be wrecked in thirty minutes. It's really down to the two kittens playing with the feathers. Aria follows her gaze, breaking her conversation with Spencer to say, "Bukowski reminds me of you, Alison. You'll like him."

Aria takes the gray kitten and hands it to Alison, feather toy and all, and Alison has no choice but to hold the furry creature. The kitten has large yellow eyes and somber gray fur. His tail is crooked. She watches him chew the feathers, a little bemused, when the kitten begins to purr. 

Alison sighs. She knows her girlfriend. If Emily were here, this is the kitten she would want to bring home.

"This one. Bukowski, right?" 

Alison should have known better. All the hints were there. Aria even flat out said the kitten reminded her of Alison. But no, she took the kitten home, warmth in her chest.

The problems start when Alison begins to put the decorations up. 

The streamers are green and blue, and Alison needs to stand on the counters to do it. She works with cut lengths, one at a time, so she can curl the streamers and tape them from the ceiling. Her back is only turned a minute, maybe two, when she hears a thump. 

Startled, not yet used to hearing unaccounted for noise in her apartment, looks around. On the floor is Bukowski, nibbling on the roll of green tape. He's kind of cute, butt in the air, wiggling and pouncing the tape, so she smiles and goes back to what she's doing.

When she steps off the counter, she can't see Bukowski. Just lines of green streamer all over her once orderly home. Eyes a little wide, weren't kittens supposed to be easier than puppies, Alison goes searching for the kitten, picking up the streamer as she goes. 

She finds Bukowski eating the streamer in the back of her closet.

Which prompts a quick call to Aria and the local vet.

"Are you sure it's okay he ate it? He doesn't need his stomach pumped?" Alison asks, doubtful. "It's just, he's a present for my girlfriend. I don't want him to die on her."

She hums while the vet assures her again, no, Bukowski's tiny tummy won't explode because he ate paper. 

"But call back if any problems persist," the vet says.

Alison hang ups the phone and looks at the kitten. She wants to say something to him, but that sounds crazy. She doesn't think she's crazy yet.

She scoops the kitten up, close their bedroom door and dumps the kitten in the living room. Satisfied he won't get into anymore trouble, Alison goes back to decorating for Emily's birthday.

They have a tiny helium inflator that they used for a Christmas party and she uses it to inflate a small army of balloons.

"Ouch!" 

Alison jumps. Bukowski looks up at her, innocent and sweet, as he scratches his claws into her socked feet. 

"Let go, wretched furball!"

Bukowski refuses to release his claws. Hissing through her teeth, Alison grabs his tiny paws and makes him release her foot. She refrains from throwing him across the room. 

Glaring at the menace, she tosses a balloon at him. It gently bounces off of him. The gray kitten regards it curiously before batting it around. Glad that they're both occupied, Alison keeps filling the balloons, dropping some for the kitten to chase. 

Her plans are to tape the balloons on the walls and island counter edge. Maybe on the coffee table too. Anything to give their normally organized and modern apartment a fun spark. 

Alison is struggling with taping the balloon to the wall, she knew she should have bought duct tape, when a loud pop makes her jerk.

Instantly, she searches for Bukowski. Did he hurt himself? But before she can make it to the living room proper and his last location, another loud pop cracks the silence again.

And another pop!

Alison finds Bukowski happily popping the balloons. A little annoyed and mostly disbelieving, she watches the gray kitten shake his tail and bend low and run at the balloon, claws at the ready. 

Pop! 

The sound is annoying, but she figures the kitten is entertained and she can go back to decorating. 

She manages to put all the balloons up and only goes through two rolls of tape in order to do so. Alison is proud of her work. It looks very cute. Emily would be happy.

The silence takes a moment to register as wrong. 

Immediately she searches for the kitten and finds Bukowski chewing on the plastic of the balloon. Horrified, Alison tugs the balloon's remains from the kitten and gets bit for her troubles. Bukowski meows, indignant at her, and seems to glare. 

She glares back. 

"No, bad kitty."

Bukowski walks away, tail high and haughty. He seems to realize the second Alison does that the living room is a balloon graveyard. It's a race between them: who can reach the trash first and Alison doesn't quite beat him. 

Determinedly, the kitten eats a small piece of balloon. Alison stares.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

She calls the vet again to make an appointment. The woman on the other end is amused. "Troublemaker, isn't he?"

"Yes," Alison says, flatly.

The trip to the vet is inconvenient. The veterinary is professional, but she can't quite hide her amusement. She performs a basic check up, administers his shots after a quick text to Aria reveals he hasn't had them yet and schedules his neutering. 

"He should be fine. Just keep an eye on him and if he doesn't pass it by tomorrow, come back and we'll take an x-ray," the vet advises. "Make sure he's eating and drinking regularly."

They arrive home an hour before Emily is due off work. Alison drops the kitten off, the monster, and hurries to fix the last minute details. She puts the cake on the counter to warm a little. 

She goes to change into something a little more flashy, fix her hair and makeup. She wants to impress Emily. Her jeans are tight and her shirt shows off her chest just so. She adds a necklace Emily bought for her to complete the look and smiles.

The smile quickly turns into a yelp when the kitten jumps on to her leg and starts scaling her.

"Ow, ow, ow! Fuck!" 

Bukowski is determined to climb her and her only choice is to pick the kitten up. He wiggles out of her hands to claim a spot on her shoulder. She hates him. Her jeans show the claw marks and tiny dark dots wet the fabric. The little asshole made her bleed.

He purrs on her shoulder, pleased as can be. She thinks about getting rid of him before Emily comes home. Bukowski is evil. It would be a public service.

Bukowski stays on her shoulder, unmoving, and all her attempts aren't worth removing him. She goes for the bag from the pet store and goes for the tiny collar with balloons and streamers on it. 

The countdown until Emily comes home is closer and closer. She wrangles the kitten off her shoulder and sets him on the counter next to the cake. A pretty bow on his collar made from the streamer would complete the look. 

The front door opens just as Bukowski pounces on the cake. The cake she went through so much work to make. The cake she had to ask Hanna to help her with.

Gone.

Alison's jaw drops.

"You little shithead." 

As Alison reaches to grab the little monster, possibly to wring his neck, he leaps from the counter. Curious, he approaches Emily, tail high and swishing.

"Awe! Emily coos, picking up Bukowski.

Alison wants to order her girlfriend to drop the kitten, but Emily is already smiling from ear to ear. She's rubbing his belly and ears, and feeling his vibration under her hands. Alison can hear Bukowski's purring from the island counter. It's instant love between owner and kitten.

Alison resents it.

Alison glares even harder at the kitten, trying to ignore the cake paw prints on the once immaculate carpet. 

"Happy birthday, Em." 

Just for a moment, she forgets her anger and allows a smile to form on her lips. Even after the literal hell that was her morning, everything was worth the smile on Emily's face and the cooing of her velvety voice. 

As Alison walks up to get a warm embrace and kiss from Emily, her eyes fall onto Bukowski. You're on thin ice, demon spawn, her thoughts display on her face. Alison kisses Emily on the cheek and twitches when the kitten licks Emily on the cheek. Exactly where Alison kissed her. Emily laughs, already in love.

Alison can swear the little shit is smirking. 

Oh it is on, Alison mouths at him, having forgotten her previous hesitancy to talk to the kitten. It is on.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on tumblr by Wretched10. Take vet knowledge with a grain of salt, and spay/neuter your pets!


End file.
